


White Lily

by IAmNotOneOfThem



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Children, Child!Q, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Tags to be added, soul bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People seemed to find their soul mates everywhere these days, on the street, at work, they bumped into them or never met them at all. James met his in the form of a skinny, little boy covered in blood in the corner of a dirty room, a tiny boy who did not speak and call himself Q.</p><p>Nobody had warned James that raising a boy wasn't easy, and that waiting for him to get old enough would be this hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you so much for putting up with my mistakes :)
> 
> Cover by the lovely and awesome tracionn: http://tracionn.tumblr.com/post/43979490387/white-lily-dedicated-to-iamnotoneofthems-00q-au

It took him one well-placed kick to the door, not the handle itself but the area right next to it, to open it, and only one simple shot between a man’s eyes for James Bond to enter the building.

From there on it was child's play.

The mission was simple, and didn't take much effort for him to finish it.

Kill every single person within these walls, get to their main computer and copy the data on a memory stick. James assumed the time it would take to transfer the information would account for most of the mission, and the killing less. It was just shooting, and trying not to be hit himself.

He looked around the edge of the door to check if anyone was in the corridor, then walked down it, checking the rooms.

He didn't know what the organisation sold for money, if it was information or weapons, names or forged money - it was none of his business anyway.

His mission was about killing and copying, and that was it. He could think about it later, once he was back in England and in a hotel room with cheap alcohol, and maybe a woman to console himself with.

Bond kicked open a door, lifted his gun and shot through a man's head, listening to his screams. He cursed, turning around to put a bullet through another one's skull before he could finish his attack on him.

_"Double-oh-seven, report."_

"Three down," James muttered while bending down, grasping the guns of the two men to take the ammo out, "no sign of the computer yet."

_"Don't forget your orders, double-oh-seven, no survivors."_

James sighed and took his earpiece out. "I'll get into contact once I find the computer." He put the piece of technology into his pocket, ignoring Q's protest.

The corridors were empty as he stepped out, a cold chill running down his spine. He ran a hand through his hair, stopping for a moment, counting the doors.

Bond was facing ten doors, five on his right and five on his left side, each exactly opposite to another. He did not know what lay behind them nor how many people were in here – Q-branch had not been able to tell him how many he would have to face.

Well, he had a gun. And he was more than willing to use it against whoever might walk into him this day.

James calmly turned to the next door, kicked it open and shot three people in the head, not even the slightest moved as he saw one cry over the other's body, the woman's hair slowly being soaked by blood creeping through the wisps one by one, painfully visible on bright, almost white hair.

He lifted the gun and shot her too, her body falling directly on top of what he assumed was her lover's body. Checking the room for any hidden cameras or any hiding places, James stepped over the corpses and then went into the next room.

There were many men and women within the walls of the building, some trying to shoot at him, others too shocked to even react before they died. James was merciless, brutal, efficient.

He was a very practical man in an unpractical job, a former Navy commander who had been a simple agent for a few years now. Something, even while being just one agent amongst the others, but he had been better than the rest. No mission not successful, everything going to plan every time, making him a feared man amongst the faceless agents working under M.

This was one of his first missions as a double-oh, and he was the youngest, but a patriotic bastard in his heart, loyal to Queen and Country, just as he was supposed to be. Though he figured the Queen could not care less about the people he shot, as long as her country was safe.

_Dismantle an illegal organisation, double-oh-seven, exterminate every possible target inside, leave no survivors. Get us the data._

As simple as that. And he'd be a let-down if he failed to do so and return to England successfully with the memory stick in his hands.

James kicked open another door, but the room was empty and he turned around again.

He didn't know what they did, why MI6 wanted them dead. It was an illegal organisation and that was all James needed to know, the fuel behind his actions, the reason he killed. Caring about something like that was not his job, and therefore not a necessity.

The next few rooms were empty too, no hideouts, no people running at the agent with guns or knives drawn to kill him. It was almost empty, in comparison to what he had expected.

He took the stairs down into the lower levels of the building, a pungent sharp scent rising into his nose, making him groan out and automatically reach up to cover his nose with his hand. It smelled of death and bile, of acid and something chemical he did not know the name of, something he knew but could not put a finger on.

Carefully he checked the corridor he found himself in - only three doors, with grey walls, rendering already crumbling onto the ground. Wind got through the cracks in the wall, and the floor squealed with each step he took.

Not the best prerequisites for a silent and quick attack, but so far he had not been attacked by anyone. It was almost too silent, and James had a bad feeling in his gut.

A knowledge settling in the depth of his consciousness, making every single step seem louder than it logically must have been, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. James stopped in front of one of the three doors, checked his gun for ammo and then kicked the door open, wood hitting the wall with a loud thump as he stepped in, gun raised.

There were a few boxes in the corner of the room and a knife. No blood anywhere, and James left the room again to go into the other two.

The second room on this level was the one with the computer, an old thing James figured was not produced anymore. He bent down to look under the desk, searching for a port to put the memory stick in, as he heard a noise from the last room.

He looked up with a frown, trying to hear if it was a human being making a noise or a rat. He wouldn't be surprised if there was one with all the dirt and dust covering the desk he was beneath.

It tickled his nose, making him want to sneeze. He held back however, and instead stood up to go see what it was. If it was a rat he could let it be, if it was a human hiding from him he'd have to kill him or her.

As simple as that.

He did not hear the noise again, but that didn't mean that there was nothing. A look wouldn't hurt and then he could go back to the computer, it wasn't as if it would run away. It was an old one, not a laptop.

Gun in one hand, he curled the fingers of his other hand around the handle of the door, pushing down. It was locked, but that didn't stop him from opening the door.

A kick, and the door hit the wall once again, a loud noise in the silence of the room. James reached out to the light switch and turned the light on, revealing a tiny room with nothing but dust inside.

No, that was wrong, he realised, as he heard a whimper, weak and quiet, from one corner. There was something inside. He aimed at the curled-up figure and took a step into the room, blocking the door just in case.

The room was dingy, its scent reminding him of rotten bodies, metal and gunpowder, something bittersweet like bile in the air. He took a deep breath before he pointed his gun at the body huddled in the corner, shivering visibly and perhaps even audibly.

His finger was ready at the trigger, his hand calm and steady, and he was about to shoot as his eyes met green, wide ones so huge it was almost comical, and his resolve crumbled.

James lowered the gun in surprise, dumbfounded by the sheer horror rushing through him and conquering his usual lack of emotion.

The shivering body flinched backwards as it saw the gun, and James realised with disgust that this was a child. A young boy in the middle of all this chaos, of whatever they had done here, living in a room smelling worse than a corpse.

What was he doing here?

Why was he **here** , and not with his parents, crying and being a spoiled little shit like children were these days?

James stared at the trembling child in the corner there, gulping audibly, lowering his gun further. He expected an attack, a surprise, but minutes passed. No one tried to shoot him, no one drove a knife into his skin, twisting it to make him scream.

 **Nothing**.

Absolutely nothing happened and it worried James, because it meant that this child was not part of a plan or an ambush.

It meant that the child was alone.

With a rapidly beating heart, James took a step forward, flinching as the boy gave a yelp and lifted his hands to cover his face.

James' eyes widened and he stared as the child curled up further, lifting knees to his chest, arms in front of his throat and face. He could see the fine lines of scars across his arms, ridiculously visible on the pale, almost white skin. The shapes of fingers, bruises in green, red and blue, and cuts clearly made by knives.

James felt pity and anger, hot, angry and ugly, going through his veins and up to his brain.

The whole world focused on one thing only, on one purpose, and his heart slowed down like it was trying to calm down for the boy's sake. The boy looked up as James put the gun down onto the ground, pushing it away from the two of them.

The piece of metal seemed to scare the boy, and he wasn't going to scare him any further. Bond felt a sudden urge creep through him and he reached out, offering his hand to the boy.

His fingers were thin, spidery even, and he hesitated but James stayed calm. Something inside him told him he had to get this boy out of here, and for that he would have to get him to follow him.

"Hey, little one," he mumbled softly, part of him doubting that the boy could understand him but he had to try, "you don't have to worry, I'm not going to hurt you..."

Bond had expected a lot of things, but not this.

Gunfire, people lunging at him, dead bodies, a bomb. But not a child. Not a frightened little thing with dirty clothes, covered in cuts and bruises, staring up at him with wide green eyes. Full of innocence, horror and fear, sobbing and crying.

What was he supposed to do? He had his orders to kill every human being inside this building, but this was a child.

A child, for god's sake.

"I'm going to get you out of here, okay? I'm going to touch you but not hurt you, you don't have to fear anything from me..."

The little one began to uncurl slowly, carefully, like a wild animal being calmed down with something sweet and sugary. He was so skinny, so tiny and fragile, bones outlined against his skin. A mop of dark curly hair, sticky and filled with dirt, framed his boyish face. Those wide eyes were bloodshot and puffy due to tears he must have been crying, and his skin was so dirty it was nearly brown.

James had never seen something so beautiful, so innocent and fragile, and it made his heart swell with an emotion he had never felt before, strong and beating inside him. He blinked, giving a gasp of surprise at the sudden realisation.

There had been bets going on around MI6 about when he would meet his soul mate, and about when he would see him or her die in front of his eyes.

People these days found their mates everywhere, in a coffee shop, bars, on the street as just another face. Agents rarely had this luck, and most had lost theirs already. James had seen them all, the empty eyes, the pain written in the way they moved.

But he had never guessed that his own mate would be a tiny little boy he'd find in the corner of a room, covered in bruises and cuts.

This was his mate. This boy, this tiny little sobbing thing, was his mate, his destined one, and James found himself at loss for words about how to deal with it.

He reached out, offering his hand again, trying to look as calm as he could manage. James tried a smile, knowing that it must have been a horrible sight, but the child sniffed and rubbed his eyes, hiccuping.

"I'm going to get you out of here, boy," he mumbled and picked him up, putting the boy's head on his shoulder, blocking his view from the outside of the corridor.

It was only when James had carried the boy upstairs, past the rooms filled with corpses, past the dust and dirt and the guns lying around, always blocking his view of it and trying to make sure the boy was safe and secure in his arms, that he realised he had forgotten to copy the data on the stick, but his priorities were clear.

Get his soul mate out of here, worry about M later.

She'd have his head, but he couldn't bring himself to care with the way the boy unconsciously snuggled closer against him, curls tickling James' skin. The boy couldn't know it yet, probably did not know why he was reacting the way he did, but James knew it was because of their bond forming. Their souls twining, twisting and turning into one, the edges and borders disappearing.

James breathed in and felt the boy do the same, hearts beating in the same rhythm, a melody unique out there in the world.

He brought a hand up to the boy’s head, running his hand softly through his hair, forgetting about M again.

"You don't have to worry anymore," James muttered, "I've got you. I found you."

The boy sniffed, and James moved his arms more tightly around the boy's body. He was determined to never let him go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you once again :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you so much for putting up with my mistakes :)
> 
> Cover by the lovely and awesome tracionn: http://tracionn.tumblr.com/post/43979490387/white-lily-dedicated-to-iamnotoneofthems-00q-au

Getting outside with the boy in his arms turned out to be harder than it should have been. His plan had been to walk out, shield the boy from any views he might be traumatised by and put him on his passenger’s seat. Get to the hotel, wash off the blood and take care of the wounds.

Apparently, the boy had other plans.

James didn’t know him, not yet, would have to get used to the presence of a child in his life, but it was evident that he was silent, not saying many words, not crying or screaming or shouting. He was just burying his face in James’ shoulder, tiny hands resting on the elder’s shoulder blades, arms around his neck.

Perhaps it was the shock, or the trauma slowly creeping up on him. The little one was a _child_ , a goddamn child, and he must have been through so much, through hell and back again, and the silence was almost worrying.

The boy was being carried out by a stranger with a gun, which he had previously pointed at the lad, and he wasn’t panicking.

It either was a terrible, horrible sign or it was something good. James only wasn’t sure whether the quiescence was positive or negative, if it stood for trust caused by their forming bond, or if he should take the boy to a psychologist before he broke down.

The sheer thought of letting him out of his arms, leave him at the mercy of a stranger let James feel a grotesque kind of possessiveness he had never found himself facing before. He didn’t want to let him go.

He couldn’t. It was impossible, and he shuddered to think about being separated from the tiny boy with the ridiculous mop of hair.

Maybe he would take him to a hairdresser’s shop once they were back in England, securely standing on British ground, and not somewhere they might be discovered and attacked. James would be able to get out of every situation easily, get out of every tight spot.

But the boy? He shouldn’t have to face violence. He should never be subjected to any kind of threat, should never have to worry or fear, but James knew that with him as the boy’s mate, he would see enough of it for more than a life time.

James’ grip around the boy’s slender frame tightened as he reached out to open the final door leading out of the house, his breathing synchronized with the other’s, their hearts beating in unison, but the moment the squealing of the door was audible, the boy began to cry again.

Instead of noticing it by the trembling going through the little one’s body, he could feel the fear inside himself, so strong and devastating that he took a hitched breath, the boy’s own palpable on his skin. He stopped in the doorway, confused about what was going on, the perception of the other’s feelings growing stronger and stronger steadily with every second James counted by the beating of his heart, and his inner clock. As he noticed an imbalance in his rate, he got onto his knees, put the boy in front of him and looked into his frightened, wide eyes.

“What is wrong, little one?” he asked as softly as he could manage, nearly stumbling over his words as the boy’s fear grew into panic.  
He didn’t get a reply, but he hadn’t expected one, and in desperation he tried to figure out a way to calm the boy down. He had seen mates kiss each other or hug the other to calm them down, and while the first would be highly inappropriate considering their age difference and the fact that the boy was a minor, he could do the latter.

A bit awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around the boy’s body and pulled him close, rubbing his back soothingly. The agent didn’t know what to say, so he embraced the silence surrounding them gently, somehow knowing that sweet nothings would just upset the boy more.

So he just held him, waited for him to react, because so far the little boy was trembling, and not moving the slightest bit. James tried to be patient, kept his arms lightly around the boy and rubbed his back, looking up to the ceiling as he counted the rate of his heart, knowing it would be the same as the boy’s. He took deep breaths, and pushed away any feeling of worry or stress he might have felt.

James let out a long breath, about to get up and try something else, but the boy finally moved to wrap his arms around James’ neck and curl into him.

“I don’t know what you are afraid of, nor what is wrong”, he muttered, bringing a hand up into the tiny one’s hair, stroking it softly, “but I’ll protect you. No one will ever be able to hurt you, not while I am here. Do you understand?”

He felt the boy nod and sniff, little hand wiping away some tears running down his face. James drew away and offered him a handkerchief, at which the boy only blinked, eyes widening in confusion.

James had to smile, because somehow, in a strange kind of way, he thought that this was endearing and the cutest thing he had ever seen. Banishing the pictures in his head, the words rushing through it like on a motorway, lights and glimpses, nothing solid, nothing everlasting, he carefully wiped the tears away, creating light traces standing in contrast to the dirt on the boy’s skin.

The smile illuminating the boy’s face, as faint and almost hesitant it was, made James show his happiness through a smile on his own. “I’m going to take you to a safer place and get you something to put on, alright? Those clothes must be dirty, and I bet you want to get clean. Come on.”

The little one looked at the door and back to James, sniffing before he nodded. He held his arms open and let James pick him up, a hand on the back of the boy’s head to shield him from anything he might be psychologically wounded by. There weren’t any corpses outside, but he wasn’t sure when the boy last had been outside.

Cars, people, crowds and noises; James didn’t know much about trauma or fear, but he could try. He had to, for the boy’s sake.

The moment they stepped outside, the younger one went tense, and let out a noise of distress. Blinking, James stopped and looked around in search for something which could have caused that, his gaze rising up to the sun shining above them, bright and merciless. He pursed his lips and blamed his emotional turmoil for not noticing it immediately, and took out his sunglasses, gently putting them on the boy’s nose, pushing them up as they slipped down.

It was an adorable sight which made James chuckle and the boy pout, his lower lip trembling in a way James couldn’t resist. He lifted a finger and gently tapped against the lip, the little one blinking in surprise. The elder chuckled again, pushing his glasses back up.

“They’ll protect you from the sun,” he explained and pointed up at the offending star. “Your eyes aren’t used to light anymore, from staying in the house for so long.”

He was sure that the boy couldn’t understand him, if only because he was used to another language, maybe from another country or from this, and couldn’t speak English. But he reacted to James’ words, so maybe he did, but explaining how eyes adjusted to light would take too long. Besides, he had more important things to take care of first, and the wonders of the world were of little importance in comparison to getting to England alive.

It was highly likely that someone connected to the organisation would be informed about what James had done. Gunshots weren’t hard to miss, and judging from the chaos around him, people running, taking out their phones to probably call the police, shouting in their mother tongue James understood pieces of, he could see that they had noticed his little stunt inside.

Slipping into his waiting car, he put the boy on the passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt, a shot of panic rushing through him.

He tried to smile softly. “It’s a seatbelt, little one, to keep you safe.” James opened it again, then let it click back into place, all under the intense stare of the boy who now pushed his glasses up on his own, almost constantly fighting with them. “You can always open them, but just... try not to while I drive, yes?”

His soul mate nodded – and James couldn’t be blamed for freaking out for a moment, because this little boy was his mate, and he had nearly shot him, and wasn’t ready for such a responsibility yet, but he had little choice – and played with the belt, running his fingers over the cold metal curiously. Which, James thought as he turned on the engine, the vibration causing the boy to jump and blink at James in surprise, was better than the fear he had seen in his eyes before, or the tears running down his cheeks.

It allowed James to forget about what he had gone through, the horrors this child might have seen, and see him as nothing but a tiny boy, taking midget, curious steps out into the world.

James tried to imagine him as a normal child. Laughing, playing, getting dirt and mud into his clothes from playing outside. And he’d return to James, hug him, and the agent knew he would grow desperate but he didn’t care.

He could wait. Even if it took years, decades, one day the boy would be his, and he could touch him.

He wondered about what he would look like as a young adult. Would he cut his hair? James hoped he would not, because he could already tell that it would become an addiction of his. So soft, even with dirt in it, some curls almost glued together by blood.

It’d probably be worse once James washed it, which brought him back to his insecurities connected to raising a child.

How did one raise a child who had gone through more trauma than most agents at MI6 would ever do? Should he take him to a psychologist to check on the boy, and should he get some help?

The thought of getting help was nothing he could be overly excited or enthusiastic about, but he was an orphan. He didn't know how to take care of a child, hell, he sometimes didn't even know how to properly handle his own needs and problems, and now he had a child to look after. It was almost scary. 

Now and then as they drove he risked a glance over to the boy, whose posture told the agent that he had fallen asleep. Their breathing was even, calm, and James' heart rate had slowed down, which he took as a good sign.

Not being able to help himself, James reached out to ruffle the boy's hair, combing through the soft curls, carefully pulling out a bit of dirt.

The hair was so long, easily covering the little one's eyes as he squirmed around a bit, left temple falling against the glass of the window. James' glasses slipped down but he pushed them back up, stroking the boy's cheek.

He already had salient prominent cheekbones, a fine and almost emaciated structure, skin clinging on his bones. Bond made a mental note to buy some food or see what the hotel offered. With a glance at his watch, James speeded up a bit, easily ignoring the prevailing traffic laws in order to get his mate somewhere safe.

Paranoia. It was a word James never had associated with the urge to protect, but it was a flame burning in his chest, all-devouring and engaging, strong and fierce, and if he had to spend his whole life looking after a child and waiting for him to get old enough, then so it must be.

The hotel wasn't far away from the house he had taken the boy out off, and James parked in front of the entrance, throwing his key into the page's hands. He walked over to the passenger's seat and opened the door, undoing his seatbelt.

As the green eyes of the boy slowly opened, looking at James in wonder, the agent felt his heart drop and his expression soften, the closest thing to a smile he was capable of spreading out across his features.

"Hello, little one", he said softly, holding his arms open for the child’s, "we are at the hotel, and I have to lift you up to get you to my room. Can I?"

The boy blinked at him and then nodded almost shyly, wrapping his arms around James' neck. He put a hand on the back of his head, burying his fingers in the messy curls, the other sneaking around the thin waist to hold him up properly.

He was being looked at strangely because he had arrived alone, and now he was carrying a child around, glaring at everyone who dared to approach.

So many questions burnt in James' mind, but so far the boy had not said anything, not a single word. Perhaps he was mute or too traumatised, but it made James be at a loss for ideas about how to communicate with him. Could he write?

It would be the easiest way.

James opened the door to the hotel room and closed it behind him, somehow managing to balance the boy on one arm while locking the door with his other hand, throwing the keys to the side. He put the boy on the bed, turning around to fetch a paper and a pen.

Back to face the boy, he had to gulp, pausing for a moment to take in the view.

The little one looked so small on the nearly king-sized bed, vulnerable and lost, with his eyes wide and shining with fear and tears alike. He folded his hands in his lap, twining his fingers to grip onto them tightly, searching for comfort where he couldn't find it.

It made James want to reach out and hug him, re-create their contact and dive into the bond, offer everything he had.

But instead he got onto his knees in front of the bed, put the paper and pen down, and created eye-contact - green meeting blue, James' heartbeat slowing down again, the boy's shoulders sinking in something close to relief.

A bond was a fragile, vulnerable thing. 

It broke as easily as it was ignored, could be created without a partner noticing it, and then the sheer amount of time spent in agonising pain and suffering because of a reason the person couldn't put a finger on would drive many into a state close to emotional numbness.

There was a soft vibration going through James' fingers, a rush of _something_ travelling up his arm, over his shoulders and descending into his bones, muscles and his being, ending in his brain, and he smiled at the young boy, offering his hand to take.

“I’m here,” he rumbled, his voice gentle yet profound.

The boy blinked at him and looked at the hand, slowly and shyly lifting his own to put into James', and the agent twined their fingers, keeping them firmly together.

"I'm here, little one." James caressed the boy's knuckle with the tip of his finger, surprised by the curious confusion with which he watched the motions James made, eyes widening just the slightest bit.

After a few moments of silence, James took the paper into his right hand and carefully nudged it into his soul mate's direction, placing the pen in the middle of it with its tip pointing at himself. He wasn't sure about how the boy would react to any kind of threat, even when it came from an almost blunt pen.

"What is your name?" James asked once the little boy looked back up at him again, the agent's voice as soft as he could manage.

Several seconds later there was doubt inside him, doubt that the younger one couldn't write, or didn't have a name anymore. That he had forgotten it over the years of being in a room, hidden away from society, the sun and everything others took for granted.

But eventually the dark-haired boy let go of James' hand and instead placed his right into the agent’s, taking the pen with his left hand. He had to cross his arms, and it was kind of awkward and tempted James to reach out and correct him, but he let him be and just took the boy's right hand into his own, switching between them smoothly.

James made a mental note of the fact that the boy was left-handed, wondering if he'd have to buy special toys and writing equipment for him.

Tiny, spidery fingers curled around it the pen as the boy set its tip on the paper, moving it with obvious difficulty. He stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth, lips pouty and swollen from chewing on them earlier, as he wrote, before showing the paper to James with wide eyes:

_Q._

James was about to open his mouth to say that 'Q' wasn't a name, merely a letter, but he stopped himself and smiled instead. "Hello Q, my name is James."


	3. Chapter 3

The way Q smiled as he heard James' name was both endearing and worrying at once, because while James found nothing interesting or exciting in names and titles, Q apparently did. That this was a result of isolation, childhood trauma and distress was something James did not want to think about, preferring to blame it on their bond and a child's curiosity; James was something new, shiny, something fascinating and unexpected, so Q was bound to be intrigued.

James slowly realised he was smiling - no, grinning was a better word for it. He gave Q's hand a squeeze before tilting his head at the boy, regarding him carefully. The first thing he probably should do was to give the boy something to eat, but instead he decided to give him new clothes, let him have a bathe bath, wash his hair. The blood and dirt on Q's clothes couldn't be comfortable nor healthy, it had to remind the boy of what he had escaped from. James couldn't look at it without feeling a sting of pain and anger, but he carefully concealed it and let go of Q's hand.

The boy's hand stayed where it had been, fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out again.

"We'll try to get you clean, okay?" Q blinked at him, going tense; James felt a shiver run up his spine and sighed, trying to smile again. "Just a bath, and then I'll give you something clean to put on. Is that alright?"

Maybe it hadn't been the best approach on the subject, but strangely, James had the feeling that it would go well. He couldn't know what the boy had gone through, if they had forced themselves on him or hurt him in a way James didn't want to think about, but he really, really hoped that they hadn't.

Otherwise, he would regret having killed them this quickly.

"Here, let me pick you up," James reached out, surprised by how quickly Q moved closer, letting James wrap his arms around him and scoop him up, cradling him against his chest.

Would the shower or the tub be better? James decided to go for the latter, because he could help him better that way and it was less likely that he'd fall or hurt himself. He could sit down there, or lie, make himself as comfortable as possible. It also would, conveniently, allow James to check his body for bruises and wounds, see if he had to take him to a hospital once they were back in Britain.

This hotel not only offered a 24-hour service, but also en-suite bathrooms and enough privacy to not ask questions; they were paid a decadent amount of money for their discretion, silence and their high standards. Bond's hotel of choice would he be able to stay in one for longer than a single mission, but he never could check into the same hotel again for another assignment.

The tub was big and there were several bottles of liquid soaps next to it on the counter. Bond chose one without thinking about it much, pouring a decent amount of it into the tub after putting in the plug, and then turned the water on.

He settled Q down onto the ground and supported him as he stood, clearly struggling to keep upright either from exhaustion or from the lack of active use of his legs. James had found him cowering in the corner, it was impossible that he could have moved around much.

"Let's get you out of those clothes, shall we?"

Q nodded and looked down on his shirt and his trousers, shifting from one foot to the other almost hesitantly, shyly, as if he was trying to familiarise himself with his body again. Almost curiously, he blinked up at James, eyes huge and innocent, making James heart swell with something he couldn't describe, something warm and wonderful.

"Here," James muttered quietly, making sure Q was steady on his legs before he gently nudged on Q's arms, making him lift them, "Try to reach the ceiling, hold your fingers up and stretch." James attempted to smile, seeing how Q was blinking at him in confusion. "I know you can do it."

Q finally looked up and stretched, sticking his tongue out in concentration; he even tiptoed, making a cute little noise as he tried to reach the ceiling. James smiled, nodding encouragingly as he carefully pulled Q's shirt over his head, throwing the dirty, bloody fabric into the nearest corner. He could take care of it later, but right now had to make sure Q wouldn't start freezing.

He stopped for a moment and examined Q, feeling his heart clutch in his chest as he realised just how skinny the boy was; his ribcage visible against his skin, every single rib so apparent that James could just reach out and trail each. Food, he definitely had to get food into this boy later, once he bathed him. Maybe then Q would feel better, less dirty, start relaxing more.

James could see the faint line of worry written across his features, the way the boy kept on looking at him as if he was afraid the man would hurt him. In his situation, everyone else would be curling up in the corner, screaming and crying; James admired Q's strength for a six or seven year old.

He had to find out how old Q was, where he came from, why he had ended up in this room; he was an enigma, a mystery and a challenge, all three things James found himself fascinated by. He wanted to know more, wanted to see inside the boy's head and into his heart, but more importantly, he wanted to be in his heart.

Slowly, James came to the realisation that he had to accept that most people would think of him as a pedophile, would worry for Q's health and safety. To James' surprise, he couldn't really blame them, he would have thought the same; a grown-up with his mate being a child, his _mate_ of all people. 

"Now I need you to hold still, can you do that?" Q nodded and ceased to move, even going so far to stop breathing, puffing up his cheeks like a hamster. The sight was terribly endearing, making James want to reach up and hug the boy, but he was trying to get him into the tub and couldn't let himself be distracted. "I'm going to take off your trousers, and then I'll put you into the tub, the water will be warm and cosy."

Some time ago James had witnessed over video link how an agent had been talked through surgery on the heart without any sedation, right in the desert; a young agent on his first assignment outside of Europe, alone except for a civilian to whom the doctors and underlings from MI6 had to explain how to perform surgery, or else the agent would have died and left sensitive information to the enemy. It had been a while ago, but James could remember the way they had talked to the woman, like she was a child.

If it worked and carried two grown-up strangers through a complicated and bloody operation without a panic attack from either side involved, it would help James get Q into the tub. Maybe, hopefully, it would be as easy as that.

There were bubbles building in the rising water, some popping almost immediately; they caught Q's attention at once, the boy looking at them curiously until James had stripped him out of his clothes, noticing a faint line of healing bruises on his hipbones, shaped like fingers. Suppressing his anger, he gently lifted Q up and made him stand in the tub, chuckling quietly as Q flinched and stared.

"Just water," he picked the bottle of soap up again, reading the description, "with the scent of white lily, can you smell it?"

Q sniffed and blinked at James, tilting his head in confusion. 

The agent wondered what white lilies were supposed to smell like, because all he could pick up was a heavy, floral scent; almost too strong for his nose, but certainly better than roses. There was something sweet about it, too, but fortunately the bottle had a description so all he had to do was read it.

"It's sweet, do you like sweet?" The boy nodded, some wisps of his hair falling into his face. James was tempted to reach out, wipe and move it away, but instead just hummed, adding some more soap. Q gave a noise like a delighted squeal, immediately reminding James of a kitten. "This smells very, very sweet, like honey. Have you ever had honey?"

Of course he hadn't, James thought, making a mental note to buy some. There was so much he somehow knew Q had missed, so much James could show him, teach him, and not enough time until they were back in Britain, where James would have to leave immediately again for the next mission.

Or, he realised, M would give him another position because it would be inhuman to leave one's mate alone, a child of all things. He really didn't want to think about that right now, not when Q seemed to be so utterly happy about the bubbles and the scent.

"Let's get you cleaned up, and wash your hair. Can you sit down?" He supported Q by holding his arm as the young boy sank down until he was sitting, the water easily reaching his shoulders. It almost immediately turned dirty, almost brown - a disgusting mixture of dried blood, dirt, dust and other things; James would rather not waste his time pondering about that. "Okay... well..."James blinked. "Lie down on your back, and hold your breath so you can get underwater, we need to get your hair wet too."

This all seemed like a game to Q, and he was determined to win.

James was surprised by how quickly he reacted, immediately lying down and holding his breath, squinting his eyes shut and puffing his cheeks, disappearing under the soapy, white mess of water for a few moments. He had to pull the boy up again, smiling as he saw how many wisps of hair covered his eyes.

“So...,” James hummed, reaching out to get some of the shampoo into Q’s curls. He began to massage his skull, run his hands through his soul mate’s hair and over his ears. “Is that okay?”

Q blinked and sneezed as soap went into his nostrils, rubbing his eyes to get the shampoo out. For a moment James was distracted by this sight, by his mate and the way Q reached up to poke a few bubbles, giggling in happiness at such a simple, trivial thing.

It all had to be so new to him, and yet he was calm. James kept his own breath even and his heart rate steady, the excitement and at the same time the fear rushing through Q’s veins. Q kept on looking at him, making sure he could at least see James from the corners of his eyes.

But, to be honest, James understood this perfectly well.

He had pointed a gun at the boy and had confronted him with violence, had carried him away and now was trying to help him by touching him, not to mention the fact that Q couldn’t understand why he felt the way he did. Why there were two heartbeats inside him, one like an echo in his brain, and another one in his chest, why he could feel emotions which weren’t his and was drawn towards a stranger, a man he hadn’t met.

James ran his nails softly over Q’s scalp and smiled at him, taking him to the shower cabin to clean Q’s body completely. Soon enough Q’s skin seemed to be of white colour again, alabaster and soft under James’ touch as he lifted him up and carried him out, putting Q down on the toilet lid.

“I’ll try to find some clothes for you, just stay here.” He awkwardly patted Q’s head like one would with a dog, getting onto his feet and leaving the room.

He didn’t go straight to his closet, but instead allowed himself a moment of frustration and stress. Groaning, James sat down on his bed and put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes before letting himself fall back.

James never had wanted children – too noisy, too much responsibility, too much of everything; he was an agent, every mission could be the last, a child just didn’t seem to fit. And now he had a child to look after, a traumatised, broken child who was his mate, and would one day end up in bed with him.

Weird? Yes, definitely; shocking, even. He knew he would be able to put Q to bed one day but wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t feel bad for it, that he was ruining the boy whose hair he had washed, to whom he had taught everything he could.

It wasn’t the time to think about that yet, James told himself, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the right moment to imagine a sixteen year old Q having sex with him, not at all. He willed himself to stop, right there, not a step further, and got up again, reaching out to his phone. While it was the last thing he wanted to do, he had to inform HQ about the boy, otherwise they wouldn’t get past the security.

He didn’t know Q’s real name, nor did he have a passport; authorities here would think he had kidnapped the boy and would cause a fuss, something James couldn’t stand and didn’t want to trigger. Just as he was about to dial Moneypenny’s number, he stopped, and instead called the other Q – MI6’s elderly Quartermaster.

The old man owed him.

“Double-oh-seven!” James nearly winced at the volume Q used to scream into the phone and held his own a bit away from his ear, waiting until Q had stopped working on whatever gadget he was trying to improve now. “Is something wrong with the equipment?”

“No, the mission was successful, but look-“ Running a hand through his hair, James tried to find a way of telling Q without letting himself sound like a maniac, pedophile or both; he was one of the youngest double-oh agents with his thirty years, Q had taken a liking to him, but still. “I... I need you to create a passport for someone I have to take with me.”

“Pardon?”

James sighed. “Don’t tell M what I’m going to tell you,” James began, waiting until Q hummed in agreement before he continued, “but I let someone live. A child, I found him in one of the rooms. Barely older than six or seven, traumatised, crying and afraid. And...”

“James, what are you implying?"

“He’s my soul mate, Q, I... I just know. I feel it. There was no way I could have killed him.”

Q typed something. James could hear the distant clicking of keys through the phone, giving him time to go to his wardrobe and search for some clothes for Q. Nothing would fit, everything too big, too wide on the shoulders and too long, but he couldn’t let Q walk around naked. Maybe they could drop by a shop later that day, but he wasn’t sure if it’d be safe to do so.

“You need to send me a picture of the boy, James, so I can create a fake identity for him. M will notice, I hope you know that.”

James wet his lips and nodded, even though Q couldn’t see it. “He calls himself Q.”

“The boy?”

“Yes, he... he refuses to talk. But he can write and wrote the letter Q when I asked for his name.”

“We could,” Q typed something, voices whispering in the background with one being female, “name him Quentin on his passport, and Q could be his nickname. It wouldn’t draw any suspicion on you.”

“I’ll send you the picture as soon as possible.”

He was just about to hang up when suddenly Q said “Stop”, making James contract his eyebrows in confusion; he wondered about what was wrong, but except for the theory that M had listened and wanted to rant, he couldn’t come up with an explanation.

“Don’t let him drink alcohol, James.”

“I didn’t plan on doing so, Q.”

“Just wanted to remind you of that.” Q cleared his throat. “Now, get back to him, I need the picture as soon as possible so I can send the passport to you.”

“Understood.” James closed the phone and threw it on the bed, padding back into the bathroom with a white shirt thrown over his shoulder, opening his mouth to apologise to Q for taking so long, but the words ended up stuck in his throat.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but he found Q sleeping, leaning against the wall behind the toilet; his chin resting on his chest, eyes closed, expression peaceful, almost angelic. Q, James thought, was pure, innocent, free of flaws and yet marked by horrors and trauma, a creature of light in the hands of a monster.

He snorted, picking Q up and carrying him to the bed, somehow managing to get Q dressed and tucked in. James sat down next to him, reaching down to comb through his drying hair, deciding that yes, this could become an addiction.

It wasn’t his fault that Q’s hair was this soft, this wonderful to touch.  
The boy made a noise in his sleep and cuddled closer, head resting on James’ thigh. Carefully, James pulled him up and cradled him against his chest, kissing his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you once again :)


	4. Chapter 4

Whilst the boy was sleeping James decided to try and see what had changed.

There were plenty of stories all over the world, in all religions and beliefs; people who claimed god chose the soul mates because they were a perfect match, others claiming that they used to be lovers in former lives, reunited by destiny to be together for all eternity.

If James had to choose one of those options and decide which one was right for him – because, let’s face it, there was no right or wrong, no moral or immoral, it was all in different shades of grey and not just black and white like it used to be in the old days of great spies and agencies operating from the shadows – he wouldn’t be able to. Until a few years, he had not believed in destiny, had thought that his fate was to stay alone.

But now he had Q, little cute adorable Q, in his arms, and the boy was so completely and genuinely his that it almost worried the young agent.

His first mission, and he had already brought a young boy home with him. Which led to new problems, and he didn’t want to think about all the things he would have to buy over the course of the next few weeks. He’d have to find out where Q was from, or at least make sure he’d be given a faked ID card. He needed some food, clothes, toys, books – what did a boy of this age need? Was he interested in cars, robots, action heroes, did he want to play outside in the dirt or was he one of the quiet children playing inside with bricks and reading picture books?

Clothes first. Food. A medical check too; James didn’t know if there were any injuries he couldn’t see, broken bones which hadn’t healed properly or infected cuts or wounds. Normally he’d notice it, a flinch here, a whimper there, reactions triggered by pain, but the way James kept on touching Q would certainly weaken and numb the pain.  
The little one’s heartbeat was echoing in James’ chest, louder than usual since it literally was double, his own and Q’s mixed, a perfect harmony and rhythm beating behind his ribs and flesh; binding them together in a way the physical world could not.

The warmth inside James’ veins, running through his blood and up his spine to his brain where it settled down with a blanket of comfort and love was nothing but Q’s curious spirit getting familiar with James’, a process described by poets, philosophers and authors alike.

_When the spirit of god binds together two souls, he does not care about gender, ethnicities, if he binds you together, you shall be welcomed by your lover’s arms._

Never had James heard of a case where mates didn’t work together, it just wasn’t possible. Former enemies, upon realising the truth of their instant connection mistaken for hatred and worse, became lovers after realizing their mistake it didn’t just work instantly, there was hard work behind every functioning relationship, and yet Q had immediately accepted him the moment he had been taken into James’ arms.

Did he even understand this? Did he even know what was going on, why he was feeling drawn to a stranger or did he just do what he thought was right without worrying about it? It was a curious, fragile thing, a bond, even more when it was between two children, or a child and an adult. 

He just hoped that Q wouldn’t wake up one day, realise that he was bonded to a middle-aged man and become filled with the desire to go and not have to do anything with him anymore.

James felt that Q was waking up before his body could process anything, something inside him stirring and brought back to consciousness long before bright green eyes found James’ blue ones and the little one’s first action of the day was a long, loud yawn.

Smiling, he reached down to shove some wisps of Q’s hair off his, wondering if he would want to have it cut so it wouldn’t hang over his face all the time; it’d be a crime to do anything about it, it would surely destroy its fluffiness and that was something James couldn’t let happen, could he? He had to protect the beauty of Q’s hair so he could enjoy it later, and even though he didn’t want to think about such things now when he shouldn’t see anything but a little, cute boy in Q James began to imagine how tempting it would be, how easily he could tug on it.

James pushed those thoughts away because they were inappropriate, wrong, and he didn’t want to risk a _reaction_ while having the boy in his arms.

“Hey,” he said softly as Q finished yawning and looked up at James again with wide curious eyes as if he still could not understand what was going on, why James was here and what happened to him, “have you slept well?”

Q nodded and lifted his hands to his eyes, probably just about to rub the sleep out of them, but then he noticed the rolled-up sleeves of James’ shirt and stopped. He regarded them curiously, letting his fingers brush over the cufflink keeping the sleeves tightly around his arms, but given the fact that the shoulders were too wide and made for broad, muscular men of James’ size, it was no surprise that the shirt itself was far too big for the little boy.

It easily covered his groin and went over his hips and backside, stopping shortly above his knees. James had left open the first three buttons so he wouldn’t feel trapped, collarbone and part of his ribs so visible that James’ stomach turned and he wet his lips nervously, bending down to peck Q’s forehead.

The pure white shirt contrasted well with Q’s hair and drew attention to his alabaster skin, yet James wondered if a red silk shirt might look even better. Or black. He had those three colours, each of which went perfectly with every jacket and suit James owned.

He would acquire more over the years. The more money he’d earn, the more he could buy, and his thoughts immediately went to the amount of clothes, books and toys he could buy for Q once he finished some more missions. Maybe he could ask for some within the British Isles until he could let leave Q alone for a week or two.

If there was a painful sting hitting him right in the heart, making his grip around Q tighten and expression harden, he ignored it; instincts always ran high, and being a trained agent whose mate was a little boy, he wasn’t even surprised about the horror he felt when imagining himself out in the field while Q was alone in the flat.

What if James gained enemies, made a name for himself in the world of spies, agents and killers for the governments; they’d search for his weak spot, and find it in the little boy.  
Q nudged James’ side and held his hands in front of his body, the sleeves having slipped over and covered his hands. Carefully, James rolled them up again and tried to tighten the fabric around his bony wrists so it wouldn’t happen again.

The fabric was soft under his fingers, silken and soft, and Q seemed to notice that too.

He rubbed his eyes like he had planned on doing before, dragging the fabric over his skin and blinking in surprise. All those little things other children grew up with, but Q didn’t seem to know them; he seemed surprised by each and every single thing James did.

His eyes followed the agent as he gently put Q down onto the bed and wrapped his legs in the blanket to make sure that he wasn’t freezing, glad to see that the only thing Q did was to curl into the blanket and bury his face in the pillow almost instinctively.

Many things were about instinct, James had found out years ago, and he knew how to use this to his advantage. Upon figuring out who was whose mate, one could easily threaten one of them to make the other agree to anything. Fear was a weapon, stronger than any training, every single suppressed emotion breaking free once there was a gun pressed against a partner’s forehead.

He didn’t want to think about what he’d do if someone tried to take Q away from him, if he’d shoot them in the head or find their own mates to tear them apart. There were endless possibilities, so many things the agent could do to make them pay for his mate’s pain, and as James went to the miniature fridge in the corner of his room and bent down to check what was inside, he nearly didn’t hear the soft whimper Q gave, but he could feel something tug at him and looked up in surprise.

Q was sitting there with his shoulders bare from where the shirt had slipped down, eyes meeting James’. A warmth went through the agent’s body like fire, only that it didn’t hurt. Confused, he felt himself relax, the thoughts about torture and pain he could inflict leaving his brain; Q was making them go away, it seemed, if consciously or not Bond couldn’t tell, but the corners of his lips twitched in a smile and he lowered his gaze again.

There was nothing in the fridge except for a bottle of alcohol and some sweets containing more alcohol than sugar.

Another tug inside him; either Q was slowly figuring out how to use the bond or he was doing it without realising it, but when James turned his head from where he was sitting on the ground, the young boy regarded the sweets with interest.

“That’s not something for children,” James said, his heart clutching inside his chest as Q looked at him like a kicked puppy. Or a kitten, the agent added in his head, smiling warmly at the boy as he reached out with grabby hands and practically begged with his eyes. “No. It’s unhealthy, little one.”

Q lay down on the bed again and pouted; James, with a sense of slight annoyance, realised that he would be one of those people who always managed to get what they wanted by triggering pity and a protective instinct in everyone who was stupid enough to fall for it. James found himself weak against this kind of power and sighed, getting up on his feet and reaching out to cradle Q against his chest, carefully moving the boy until he had him in his arms, the boy practically sitting on one while one of the tiny, bony hands rested on James’ shoulder.

He looked at James curiously, curling his fingers into the shirt he was wearing.

Q blinked, tilted his head and contracted his eyebrows, which was a terrifyingly cute expression.

Those weren’t thoughts a grown-up man trained to kill and assassinate should think.

“We’re going to get you some clothes,” he explained, slipping into some shoes and walking out of the hotel in nothing but a shirt and his suit trousers, his jacket lying forgotten in the hotel room, just like his gun and everything else.

He didn’t expect anyone to attack them. There had been no survivors but Q, James had left no one alive. The blood of those people was still on his hands, the same hands he was holding Q with, both curled around one of the boy’s legs so he could keep him steady. 

With less dirt on Q’s skin and clothes, the woman behind the reception desk looked less concerned and more like she had seen a cute little kitten; she waved at Q and most likely expected him to wave back, but the boy stared at her with wide eyes and then lowered his head to bury his face in James’ hair.

“It’s alright,” James mumbled, rubbing soothing circles on Q’s legs and following the path leading away from the hotel and into the city.

The weather at this time of the year was warm, dry and the sun shone down mercilessly. James turned to the right and walked past a tourist shop, stealing two hats without wasting much thought to on it. He wasn’t caught, no one seemed bothered and after ripping off the price tags, he put one on Q’s head and the other one on his own.  
It slipped down Q’s head and covered his eyes, throwing a large shadow onto his face - which was good, because James couldn’t find nor steal sunglasses anywhere; now that they were amongst people, a huge crowd full of Arabs, it would draw too much attention to them.

Tunis was a beautiful city, had always been one of the most interesting of which James had studied the landscapes and maps. With white walls surrounding James on his way through the city, blue fences and lattices in front of the windows and platform roofs all around him, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to bring a British boy here and keep him locked underneath the feet of Arab people.

He walked past a tiny tower made of red stone, with a balcony going all around it; a young man with dark hair and bright eyes was watching the people underneath, playing with something James couldn’t see. From here he couldn’t see the ocean, but could smell the distinctive scent of salt and water lying in the air. Q in his arms sniffed curiously and sneezed, luckily not wiping his nose clean with James’ shirt.

Above their heads were archways with signs written across them; colourful flags on thin ropes hung from them and nearly brushed over James’ head as he walked underneath, lowering Q a bit so he wouldn’t get hit by them.

Q must have been here for years, because he didn’t seem concerned by the language. A boy ran past them screaming something at another in Arabic, playing with a Tunisian flag. Q tugged at James’ collar and pointed at another boy who was running away from him, probably since because they were playing tag.

Maybe Q wasn’t British like James had thought, maybe he was of Arab origin, or perhaps he came from another country and had been raised to speak English. James tried to remember if he had read anything about soul mates understanding each other while not speaking the other’s language, their minds practically translating what they wanted to say and the other understanding.

He’d have to try and see, had to find out who Q was before he came here; he must have been young, maybe three, or maybe not even that.

“Do you want something to eat?” James asked while pushing open the door to a little shop for tourists, deciding that the clothes could wait. He didn’t know when Q last had eaten, and the shirt was alright. People were throwing curious glances into his direction, but no one commented. “Have you ever tried Couscous?”

Q shook his head and clung onto James as the agent tried to put him down in one of the chairs, so he let him stay where he was and just made sure that he was sitting comfortably on his knee, one arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulders so he wouldn’t fall down by squirming out of his arms which he was bound to do, he was a young child, a boy. It would surprise Bond if he didn’t get curious and start moving around.

After the waiter asked what they wanted and James ordered couscous, only one for both of them, and _kouski bil arnab_ instead of _bil ghalmi or bil djaj_. Hare was in James’ opinion better-tasting, and he had a feeling that Q would prefer that over the lamb or chicken he could have chosen. 

The way the owner of the shop had cooked the couscous wasn’t as good as the one James was used to in England, also very spicy and too hot on the tongue; the moment Q reached out and tried to touch it with his fingers, James patted them and tutted, lifting a spoon to the little one’s mouth.

He forgot to say that it was hot and that Q had to blow on it – but then, he wasn’t used to someone not knowing those things, to a child not having been told by his parents that it wasn’t good to eat without checking the temperature first. This way he couldn’t react quickly enough and only could helplessly offer some tea as Q burnt his tongue, giving a yelp and letting the spoon fall, fingers curling around his tongue which he stuck out, tears rushing into those green bright eyes.

James felt guilty and let Q drink all the tea he had ordered, surprised when the boy held up the cup and asked for more without saying anything.

He seemed to like tea. He drank four cups before James decided that it was enough and, in fluent Arabic, asked the shop owner for _Keleij_ , chocolate balls and _maakrouns_ for Q to eat, putting them into a bag and picking the boy up again.

“You didn’t like the couscous?” Q shook his head and stuck his tongue out again, pointing at it while sucking on a maakroun, his expression indicating that he liked it. He kept on putting his fingers into the bag, taking out balls and maakrouns, the keleijs something he didn’t seem to like or he hadn’t just really tried them. It was the chocolate which seemed to attract the young boy’s attention, eyes sparkling as he took another chocolate ball into his sticky fingers, eating on it slowly like he was afraid of it disappearing.  
It probably was for exactly that reason, James realised, looking up at Q with worry written across his features, but Q didn’t seem to notice it and just kept on eating.

He was afraid that James would give him away again; send him back into the room and leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you once again :)


	5. Chapter 5

Now it was time for clothes. Money was of no concern to James, was something he could spend without a second thought on necessary things like food, new gear and security systems _en masse_ , but as he passed a few clothes shops and open markets, he just couldn’t decide what kind of clothes he wanted to give Q.

He could let him choose on his own, but feared that the boy would just point at something out of fear of choosing something far too expensive, of enraging James by wanting things the adult didn’t want to give him.

When the truth was that James would do anything for Q, would give him gifts and buy him everything, and that seemed to be a problem too; if one day Q asked for something dangerous, for something illegal, would he say yes? Would he give him money and end up finding Q in some alley with a needle in his arm, eyes glazed and expression peaceful?

Something inside his stomach cramped and he pressed a kiss to Q’s hair, surrounding himself with the boy’s scent in order to get rid of the dark thoughts clouding his mind, clawing at his happiness. Those curls were lovely. They were so soft, like silk under his fingers as he reached up and combed through his hair, trying to put some order into it.

Of course he failed; hair like this couldn’t be tamed unless it was cut and James would do a lot of things, but not this. A hand pawed at his chest. James looked down to see Q trying to reach the bag of candies, mouth surrounded with brown sugar and fingers sticky, thankfully not leaving behind any traces on his shirt.

“Later, Q, we need to find you some clothes first.”

Before that, however, he’d need to find something to clean Q with; no one would let them into their shop or touch their clothes when the boy’s fingers looked like that. At least that was the case in England, and as a representative of the Queen’s country and subjects, James wasn’t going to leave a bad reputation.

It was a British gentleman’s sacred duty, his obligation.

If Q was British then he didn’t let it show, couldn’t, James realised, because he had never been around Englishmen before. While he had no idea where Q came from, why he was here and how he still was alive serving no obvious purpose for the organisation James destroyed, he figured that none of the men had been English.

They all had looked like Arabs, had shouted at him in a language James wasn’t fluent in but understood well enough; there was no way someone British with a bit of pride would work with feckless cack-handed criminals like the ones James had killed only yesterday.

Q’s curious eyes were glued to everything they passed; the other children running between their parents’ legs, women with the Hijab, some without, holding their children on one hand, bags in the other. Now and then James spotted one in the corner of the public open space breast-feeding a toddler under a foulard. It made him wonder whether Q had parents waiting for him somewhere, searching for their boy, or if they had stopped believing in his survival.

Maybe, he thought, looking down at his young soul mate cradled safely and securely against his chest, they weren’t even alive anymore. Had died – had been killed.

The boy’s facial expression changed, his curious eyes lowered until he was looking at the floor, his shoulders sinking down. Dipping into their bond, James tried to find a reason but didn't discover it in Q, only in himself. He had projected his thoughts onto him, his emotions and fears, and now Q was suffering for it.

A bond wasn’t a one-way thing.

It worked both ways; James could feel Q’s emotions, was influenced by them and could adopt them without realising or feeling it, and it worked for Q too. On a mission, Q would feel James’ adrenaline, would feel his pain. He would be able to sense everything, know everything, and MI6 would surely try to find a way of making sure Q would never betray his country, would never be taken away and tortured for information.

The sheer thought made James want to throw up, hide Q and lock him away until no-one, absolutely no-one could hurt or harm him anymore.

That was, unfortunately, impossible and he knew it, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try it. He wrapped his arms around Q and found a little fountain. Kneeling down, he put Q on the edge of it, took his hands and washed them in the water.

It wasn’t the best he could do, but without any disinfectants close at hand he couldn’t think of an alternative. Go into a market, a store, and try to find some? It seemed like a waste of money and time; in a country like this, without any legal protection, James didn’t want to spend more time than necessary outside where a sniper would have easy play.

Automatically, James lifted his head and scanned the windows and roofs, but there was no one with a gun; a few children, a family sitting on top of their house enjoying the sun, but no one James would regard as dangerous.

He held Q’s hands between his own and lowered them into the water, gently brushing and cleaning them until there was no sugar, no chocolate left. James didn’t clean Q’s mouth because the water wasn’t clean, but he turned the boy’s head and made him look at him, gently cupping his face between his hands.

“Stick your tongue out,” James instructed, doing the same even though it made him feel stupid, “and now lick the area around your mouth. There’s some chocolate there – don’t you want it?” Q blinked at him but did as told, his tongue a bit uncoordinated as he licked his mouth clear. James reached out to steal a handkerchief from a woman’s and had put it into her bag, wiping Q’s mouth clean with it. “Let’s go.”

There was a _United colours of Benetton_ close by which James entered as quickly and discreetly as possible. His gut told him that something was going on, was wrong; he couldn’t figure out what it was, but the feeling was one had very often during his time as a Navy commander, even more in his short time as an agent for Her Majesty’s Secret Service before he had been promoted and became a double-oh.

His first mission, and he brought home a young man. Regardless of how often he repeated it in his head, the fact that he had found his soul mate in this boy was something James would take a while to process and understand. It just didn’t seem real. He had prepared himself to be alone, to spend a lifetime fucking women on missions and be alone at home, and now this.

He ruffled Q’s hair affectionately and was relieved to feel him lean into the touch almost like a lazy cat, his arms wrapped around James’ neck, cheek on James’ shoulder. The warmth creeping through his body, through the fabric of James’ shirt and into his bones had more of a calming effect than anything he had ever known, a warmth James didn’t and couldn’t understand, made him smile and kiss his head again and again until a store assistant cleared her throat and politely asked him how she could help.

Anyone else would probably have the decency to blush, but James just told her that he needed clothes for the boy and she led him to the children’s section.

There were several shirts and Bermudas in all kinds of colours. He frowned at the symbols, patterns and colours of them, but the shop assistant was either oblivious to that or she ignored it; probably the latter, given the fact that her face was blank but her eyes sparkling in mild annoyance.

“It’s our summer collection,” she explained, holding up a t-shirt which reminded James of a watermelon’s pulp. It made him cringe internally. “We have several Bermudas, khaki shorts and T-shirts for children.” Holding it up to Q, she hummed, putting it away again – much to James’ relief. “Why don’t you pick a few and let your son decide?”

With that she quickly walked away, probably more than happy that she could finally get away from him and the boy. There weren’t many other customers, and James could understand perfectly well why that was the case.

Letting her words sink in, he huffed out some air and felt himself grow frustrated, Q’s light chuckle dragging him out of his thoughts. When he met the young boy’s gaze he realised that Q was amused, his eyes sparkling lightly; a beautiful contrast to the fearful, dull expression James had already grown accustomed to.

“It’s not funny,” James scolded, “she thinks you’re my son. We share no resemblance whatsoever.”

Q blinked at him in the most innocent way James had ever seen, tilted his head and then pointed at the shirt the shop assistant had given him, shaking his head. At least he seemed to have some sense of fashion, James noted with pleasure, putting the shirt back where it came from and went going over everything to find something suitable.

This shop was horrible. He felt the desire to take Q into a shop for suits where they also had shirts for young children and teenagers; depending on the price everything could be arranged. That was what he had worn all the time after his parents died, the suit he had worn to their funeral like a protective suit of armour to him; that didn’t mean Q would like to wear one, though. He didn’t want to force his own dressing style onto the boy, as tempting as it was.

James was sure he’d look lovely in a suit, much better than in a shirt saying _Waikiki Crew Wave Riders_. Even looking at it hurt James and he turned around so Q couldn’t even see it, not spotting one acceptable shirt in the whole collection.

There were T-Shirts designed in the style of a plaid button-up shirt, soft to touch but cheap-looking. Only the best for his soul mate, and this was anything but.

Upon deciding that this shop held nothing for him, James left and wandered around, holding a dozing Q securely in his arms until he found a _Zara_ store, sighing as he entered. That at least was a shop he had been in once in England and knew that they were acceptable. Not the best, but it would do for the moment.

The shop owner greeted him in French and asked if he was searching for something specific; James replied in perfect French, saying he was looking for a shirt with long sleeves resembling a suit jacket, maybe something for warmer temperatures, and a pullover.

He didn’t even make it that far.

Q seemed to wake up from the movements James made as he walked up the stairs to the children’s collections tugging on his shirt and on their bond, making James stop and stare in confusion. The young boy lifted his hand and pointed at a shelf filled with different kind of polo shirts, blouses and vests, only stopping to physically try and drag James towards it when the agent got closer.

He spotted the thing Q wanted even before the shop owner managed to ask if he had found something; James contracted his eyebrows at the _light grey cardigan_ _with elbow patches_ , feeling Q’s excitement and the pure want radiating from the young boy. Grabby little hands were lifted as he tried to reach it but it was too far away. The whimpering started immediately.

Numb, James just watched him giving up and instantly felt bad for it; tears shot into Q’s wide, bright green eyes as he gazed up at the older man. Q sniffed, some of the tears running down his cheeks.

If James hadn’t felt bad before, he did now.

Taking the cardigan, he held it so Q could reach out, let his fingers brush over it curiously, explore the fabric and test if he’d like it. He did, of course he did; Q didn’t look up but their bond was tingling, the urge to please the young boy filling James with a warmth he hadn’t known before. As if his movements were controlled by a force unknown, invincible, he hung the cardigan over his arm and continued to follow the shop owner who showed him all kinds of shirts, from plaid ones to one-coloured, black, yellow, green, red, purple; James took four kinds of shirts, trousers and sweaters and closed the door of the changing cabin behind him.

Q blinked up at him, obviously not knowing what they were doing here, but judging from the brightness of his expression he seemed to be having fun.

He was so incredibly cute, it almost hurt.

“Arms up,” James said gently, taking off the shirt Q was wearing and letting him slip into some boxers he had asked for, the shop owner’s suspicion following him even here. It was understandable and only reasonable, but it still annoyed James to the point where he had wanted to punch the man in the face.

The first shirt, reminding James of the ones he had worn in his time as a Navy, fitted perfectly. He put it to one side, moving on to the next ones. One had a Batman symbol on it, but fascinatingly enough Q didn’t seem to know it nor did he like it. In fact, all the ones bearing a symbol most boys would die for seemed to dissatisfy him. James could feel every single emotion run through Q’s mind, learnt how to read and manipulate them so Q was happy, and nothing else.

After letting Q try on all the polo and T-shirts, James gave him a black button-up shirt just to see how Q would react.

To his genuine approval, Q liked it immediately. He beamed up at James, holding onto the sleeves and playing with the cufflinks, and not even the promise of sweets could make him take it off.

Soul mates, James knew, unconsciously became more similar to each other in regard to hobbies, behaviour and ways of doing things; there had been a double-oh who had found his soul mate shortly after James had joined MI6, and after two months of being with her she had started to eat strawberries even though she had claimed only weeks before that she hated them. Q (his Quartermaster, not the boy), always told stories about how he had started to do his hair and use several products to keep his skin smooth and free of wrinkles because that was what his late wife – bless her – had done all the time.

One day, maybe, James would start to develop a serious addiction to tea or sweets, and Q would drink himself to death. There wasn’t much one could copy from an agent like James; he killed, he shot, he fucked and he drank.

He wanted to pity Q, but was egoistic enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to stand Q being with someone else, leaving him and being happy without James.

James craved a cigarette, and saw Q’s fingers twitch in a way he had only seen those of nicotine addicts do.

_ This soul mate shit was fucked up. _

In the end, James bought four shirts, the black button up and a pair of khaki trousers he let Q put on right after leaving the store. Everything was a bit too big on him but it’d do until they were in England and he could shower him in the finest silk, cardigans and everything he might wish for.

Bathing in the pleasure Q was projecting onto their bond, he did not notice that someone was following them; a man, and a woman whose high heels clicked on the ground beneath her feet. That should have given them away; no one here wore high heels because the streets were so uneven and women easily twisted their ankles.

He only saw them when he turned around the corner and faced them, the woman’s cold eyes immediately falling onto Q. James’ hand moved down to his hip only to realise that he didn’t have his gun with him, that it lay in the hotel safe too far away to run and reach it without getting hurt.

Without getting _Q_ hurt.

“Give us the boy, please,” said the man, his accent thick and heavy. “We do not want to cause harm.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” They were far too polite to be average criminals, his mind supplied, clouded by the fear and the tension running through his mind. Q didn’t understand what was going on, he felt it; confusion beat in his chest, filled James’ brain until his own feelings dominated again.

The woman tutted and stepped forward, lifting her gun with a perfectly manicured fingers on the trigger. “Please, don’t make us cause a fuss, that’d be terribly inconvenient for both of us.”

She was British, a Londoner, judging by her accent. In the brief moment he let his guard down and allowed himself to be confused she darted forward to grip his arm, causing him to let go of Q to defend himself. His knee went to her stomach and pushed her backwards, her gun falling down onto the ground and firing a bullet harmlessly into the sky.

He bent down to pick up the gun, his heart beating rapidly, almost too rapidly. It wasn’t his own, he realised as he heard a loud cry and a sob.

The agent’s head snapped up, eyes losing their focus for a brief moment in which his heart pumped blood into his legs and made him get onto his feet, world turning and spinning and something inside his chest clutching painfully, making him gasp. No more than a few seconds passed, but when he realised what was going on he lifted his gun and aimed for the man’s head, nearly letting his weapon fall as Q was pulled into the man’s arms and a gun barrel pressed against his temple.

Tears were streaming down the boy’s cheeks, eyes wide as they stared at him.

_ One heartbeat. _

He looked into Q’s eyes, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine and fear pulsate through him, not even knowing if it was his own or Q’s being projected onto him through their bond. It was an ugly feeling he couldn’t describe, but he knew that he didn’t want to feel it ever again. Not from Q, not from himself, not from both of them at once.

_ Two heartbeats. _

The safety catch of the other’s gun was released and James was forced to lower his own, because otherwise he would have to watch his soul mate being killed. The thought alone, the very idea of letting Q go now that he found him was too much to bear.

_ Three heartbeats. _

Four. Five. Six. Palms sweaty. Eyes widening. Pulse speeding up, finger twitching at the trigger.

James opened his eyes again after closing them for a moment, ready to give up and let them shoot himself instead of Q, but then -

“’ames!”

He lifted his gun, pulled the trigger and shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by the lovely Bardlover1.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this! I should write more since I'm in summer break right now but I'm just so lazy... this fic will of course be continued! 
> 
> I wouldn't drop this, especially not without saying something first.

The bullet hit the man’s arm and made him flinch backwards, releasing Q from his arms. The boy crouched down on the ground after James gestured him to and then curled up into himself, his panic and fear rushing down James’ spine like electricity.

James gritted his teeth and fired another shot, this time hitting the man right through his forehead. Blood splattered; he could feel how Q took in the situation, and was surprised just how calm he seemed. It was James’ first mission as a double-oh, yet in his time before MI6 he had seen children react to gunfire before; but never like this.

Q acted like he had experienced something like this before. He stayed on the ground so he wouldn’t get hit, curled up to protect his face, neck and chest; bullets flew right above his head, Q trying to make no noise so the people would ignore him.

It just didn’t seem right, natural, and made James grimace at the sight of it.

Quickly, James turned around to fire shots at the woman who managed to dodge behind a container filled with trash, the bullets he sent into her direction ending up stuck, embedded in the metal. She didn’t shoot on her own; she stayed behind the container and hid, but James wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she wouldn’t shoot the moment she had a clear shot.

Getting down, he moved to Q very quickly and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

With the fear clouding James’ mind, the protective instincts roaring inside his brain he couldn’t think and focus on what he was supposed to do: shoot the woman, grab Q, and get on the next flight back to England. 

Right now, all he wanted to do was curl around Q and calm him down, kiss his forehead, brush through his curls and whisper soothing words.

A bullet flew over his head and hit a window above them; the glass shattered, raining down on them. James quickly pulled Q closer and bent over him, feeling the shards cut through his shirt but ignoring it for the sake of Q’s safety.

The boy lifted his head and looked up at James, sniffing. He had spoken a single word before – _James_  – but now was silent again, refusing to speak. He didn’t need to; James felt everything, the pressure on his chest, the rapid beating of his own heart matching Q’s – it drove him crazy with the need to protect him and take him away from here.

Carefully, he pulled Q along as he went behind a container on his own, taking cover as the woman began to shoot again. Releasing a long breath, James looked at Q and smiled weakly before brushing a gentle hand over his forehead. Q blinked up at him, looking a little confused.

Under any other circumstances, it would be endearing; right now, James could only force himself to smile so Q would calm down again.

“I won’t let them take you away,” he mumbled and kissed Q’s forehead. “I need you to trust me, alright? I will not let her harm you.”

Q wet his lips and sucked the lower one between his teeth, giving a shy nod. James grinned brightly and then kissed his forehead again, pulling Q close to his chest as bullets flew past them again.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” James muttered, letting go of Q and leaving his cover.

The woman didn’t shoot at him immediately, and James used this to his advantage. Jumping over the container, he tackled her and threw her down on the ground, shoving the gun away so she couldn’t use it. Her colleague was dead; the only one who could now take the gun was Q, and James doubted he would shoot him.

Still, he didn’t want to risk anything, so he turned his head while wrapping his hands around the woman’s throat, pressing her down on the ground.

“Q, take the gun. Hold onto it tightly and keep your finger away from the trigger, alright? Would you do that for me?”

He saw movement from the corner of his eyes and looked up carefully, smiling encouragingly at Q who took the gun and looked at it helplessly. Q might have known how to shoot, how to repair a gun after taking it apart, but it took a lot more to shoot without thinking. James knew it by now, knew it after shooting people for years, but Q, sweet Q, he was so innocent, so beautiful and immaculate.

James felt like he was pouring blood over Q’s head, like he was taking his innocence and squeezing it in his hand. A shudder ran down his spine and he felt Q’s confusion, but chose to ignore him for the moment as there was a woman he had to take care of.

She had been struggling under his hands for the whole time, but didn’t have the strength to push James off. Dozens of jokes and innuendos ran through his head; he smirked down at her and punched her in the face, feeling her bones give in.

“ I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to hurt and attack my soul mate,” Bond said quietly and wrapped his hands around her throat again, digging his nails into her flesh, “but I will make you pay. Tell me who you’re working for.”

She tried to push his hands off, but it didn’t work; he squeezed harder, not caring that he might kill her before getting a response, not caring that Q would witness him killing someone this early. He grimaced and pushed his knee on her stomach, feeling her fight against the need to throw up.

“Who are you working for?” James asked again, this time shouting at her. Her struggles became more desperate, less coordinated; whoever trained her had not been good, not as thorough as MI6 and the Navy. “ _Who are you working for?!_ ” 

Her lips were tightly pressed together into a line, her skin turning blue. He let go of her and pushed himself off the ground, a foot pressing down on her chest so she wouldn’t move away. Fury, anger rushed through him as he imagined her taking Q away god-knew-where, feeling Q’s fear and pain even when they were miles apart.

The image of Q lying on the ground with blood soaking his clothes came to James’ mind. He saw red, took his gun and shot her in the head.

Blood splattered; he took a step backwards and turned around as he felt a gaze resting on his back. It felt like a question, the emotion Q sent to him over their bond, his eyes wide and curious, but James couldn’t tell what he wanted. He took Q’s hand and wrapped his arms around him as the boy buried his face in James’ belly, brushing his fingers through his hair.

“We’re going to England as soon as possible,” James mumbled and sighed. “There you will be safe. No one can hurt you when we’re in England, alright? I promised you I won’t let anyone harm you and sometimes it means I have to kill them for your good. Are you alright?”

James felt stupid as he asked Q, was he supposed to be able to feel the other’s emotions and know what he wanted even before his soul mate did; but right now he was too nervous, full with adrenaline and energy, and it made it impossible to dig into their bond and get a taste.

Something inside him was pulled on. He looked down and met Q’s wide eyes, another tug causing him to go down until his eyes were on the same level as the boy’s. Hesitantly, he opened his arms for him and let him pull on James until they were hugging, Q’s curls tickling his skin.

It brought a smile to James’ face, and over their bond he could feel that Q was pleased with himself. James chuckled and kissed his head, burying his face in Q’s hair. “So young and you already have me around your finger,” he mumbled, shook his head and got to his feet again; he lifted Q up and cradled him against his chest, then hid the two guns he now had under his shirt. “Let’s go somewhere safe, alright?”

There were a few houses owned by MI6 in every big city world-wide, just in case an agent needed a place to crush or hide during a mission. The British embassy was the first stop for every agent; the secret hide-outs the second. James knew all of them by heart, whether it was in Paris, Istanbul, Budapest or Quebec.

One even was close by, so he stole a car without being seen and drove to the house. It wasn’t a luxurious one as they didn’t want to draw attention on themselves, but James knew that the inside was more inviting than the facade. He knocked on the door, balancing Q on his left arm, and waited until the door was opened by an agent he had never seen before. Once he showed his ID and established a legitimate connection to MI6, James decided to trust him enough to stay until their flight. 

MI6 would make sure that they didn’t have to wait several hours at the airport, but would just have to appear when the first class was boarding. He hoped they had a film he could watch with Q, or else the three hours in the plane would be torture for the boy.

James couldn’t really remember how he acted at seven years old; he could remember that he loved to play with his father’s hunting dogs, and that he had always enjoyed the pies his mother made, but that was it. Whenever he thought about them, he remembered their accident and the pain of loss; grimacing, he put Q down on the couch and took a camera the agent gave to him. The Quartermaster still needed a picture of Q so they could leave this country as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, their technology was more than advanced. James just needed to take the picture and then already got a message from the Quartermaster saying that they could get the passport in the embassy.

“I’ll grab it,” the agent said and then left them alone with the other two there: a young woman from Q-branch sitting behind the computers, controlling the security feed from the cameras all around the house, and another field agent who was currently trying to figure out where the gun James got from the woman came from.

“You don’t happen to have any toys here?” James asked the woman and lifted his head, chuckling when Q followed the motion and regarded her too. “Or something to eat. Food would be marvellous.”

“I see if I can find something,” she smiled and got up from the chair, leaving to go to the kitchen.

Q got off the couch and carefully, slowly, made his way through the room. His steps were clumsy, a little helpless even; James watched him and followed so he could make sure Q wouldn’t fall, trailing behind him lazily. No one ever taught Q how to walk properly, he figured, or he had forgotten how to after years of sitting in the corner James found him in.

One day, James would have to find out where he came from and what happened to him.

He would need to interrogate him or would have to watch an agent ask question after question; he knew it would happen soon or else they’d risk Q forgetting everything. James doubted that it would ever happen, but he knew M, the heartless bitch. She would want to know, would investigate, and she would be pissed off at James for not killing the boy.

He’d very much like to see her shoot her own soul mate, if he or she still was alive. It was impossible.

He couldn’t imagine how bad it would get once Q would go out on his own, find friends and go home to them, couldn’t imagine the boy’s frustration when he realised that he was bonded to a man who would die far before him. 

Sometimes, rarely, the younger mate would die just in the moment the older did, their hearts stopping to beat in unison just like they shared one rhythm, one melody, all their life. James hoped it wouldn’t be the case with them; he could die any moment, and Q still was so young.

So bloody young, James thought, kissing the top of Q’s hair. When Q turned around, he let go of him, just to wrap his arms around the boy’s torso and pull him up to his chest.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, getting a little whine as response. Chuckling, James shook his head and carried him into the kitchen where the Q-branch minion waited; she was preparing a sandwich and had fish in the pan. It smelled delicious, but he doubted he would get Q to eat this much since they only ate maybe an hour ago.

“The kitten here doesn’t think he’s hungry,” he said to the minion and sat Q down on a chair, going down on his knees to be on eye level. Interaction came easy, naturally to him; his anxiety and worry was gone, hidden away behind the adoration and love he felt growing inside his chest and mind, like a flower growing and spreading its roots inside his body. “I think he is, however. He needs some fat on his bones.”

The minion chuckled in agreement and put the plate with the sandwich down in front of Q. One sniff at it and Q shook his head, trying to crawl off the chair but James put him down onto it again gently.

Q whined again, turning his head away from the food.

“No?” James asked him and sighed. 

He was so thin, so bony, he needed something to eat, but he couldn’t force Q, no matter how good it would be for him. No wonder Q was too weak to walk around, always seemed so tired and exhausted; he didn’t have the energy to do so. 

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” the minion suddenly said and sat down in front of Q, putting a tiny box right behind the sandwich. Q blinked at her, then at the box; James felt his curiosity through their bond and grinned brightly, seeing what she was planning. It seemed to work. “If you eat this sandwich, you’ll get the sweets inside the box. Just don’t tell Martin I offered you that, they are his and normally taboo for us. But this is a special situation, isn’t it?”

Q nodded and looked at the sandwich almost warily, as if afraid it would bite or attack him. James reached out to get it and then took a bite, smiling at Q and then offering it to him again.

With tiny, clumsy hands, Q took the bread and bit into it, chewing so cautiously that it made James chuckle to himself. He felt the minion’s gaze rest on himself, but chose to ignore her; he knew what was going through her mind, saw the confusion shine in her eyes. A double-oh agent already known for his coldness and cruelty in field entertaining a boy; it must have been a funny sight.

“The passport should be here in a moment,” she said after clearing her throat awkwardly, probably aware that James had caught her staring. “You can go get the plane right afterwards, Q sent me all information.” 

Q looked up at her and blinked. James sighed, kissing his head.

“Not you, kitten,” he muttered, seeing how Q’s eyes lit up as he said ‘kitten’. Maybe Q used to own one, before the men took him and kept him in their cellar for years. Maybe they had one there for the children and he played with it. There was so much James didn’t know about him, all the mysteries, secrets and puzzles he had to face.

One day, maybe, there would be no shadows left and all there’d be would be brightness; James didn’t know what the future would bring, but he hoped that whoever was in charge would have mercy with the boy, leave him out of all the misery and pain James had gone through for thirty years, since he was born.

It didn’t take long for the agent – Martin – to return with the ID and a few more papers James would need to get to the airport with Q. By now Q had eaten his way through the sandwich and all the sweets and was sleeping on the couch, his head resting in James’ lap.

Scooping him up, James carried him outside and sat on the passenger seat while Martin drove; he stopped in front of the airport and said his goodbyes, disappearing as quickly as he drove here. James didn’t waste any time out in the open where anyone could have easily shot them, and entered the building. He found their gate, let their papers be controlled and then went inside the plane where a stewardess guided him to their seats.

_ All was fine now, _  James thought just as the plane began to move and fly up into the sky. 

Q opened his eyes, took a look around, and immediately began to cry loudly enough for the passengers in front of them to turn their heads in annoyance. 

_ Or not. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jen from consultingwriters for beta-reading this for me - thank you dear!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _not beta-read_

James flinched visibly when Q began to scream in horror and fear, beginning to wriggle and try to escape.

They already were in the air now, the plane flying up to the height necessary for them to be above the storms, above weather and the clouds. The memories of James’ childhood were blurry, nearly non-existent, and he was sure that it all were just images he put into his own head in order to think he had a nice childhood, but he could remember he had always loved flying.

The feeling of freedom, the sight of the fluffy clouds underneath the plane and the fact that it was something new and exciting, and even the food had been fine for him despise being horrible most of the time, even in first class.

Q didn’t seem to agree with him on that.

Wrapping his arms around the boy’s torso, he tried to keep him still, hoping he would calm once the plane was steady again, but even when the sign for the belts went out and the stewardesses went around asking if they’d like something to drink, he kept on crying. People turned around every now and then, glaring and scowling, feeling annoyed by the noise the child was making. James glared back, even went so far to bare his teeth when one muttered insults under his breath.

It was a bloody child, and it probably was his first time flying – it was unfair to judge him. Shaking his head, James nuzzled Q’s hair and muttered into it, making soothing noises and bouncing him on his hip like one would their child.

“Is there something you need, sir?” The stewardess stepping to their seats asked, eying Q with a smile and a raised eyebrow at the same time. “We have nappies in our toilets in case you are in need of one-“

“He’s seven,” James said, looking at her in disbelief. Q looked young, but not like he hasn’t been toilet trained yet. He had gone on his own every time James asked if he needed to and hadn’t needed any help. “It’s his first time flying... I think he’s scared.”

He knew he was.

The fear Q felt ran through James’ veins, sent shivers down his spine and made his own breathing speed up against his will. He felt the urge, the almost overwhelming need, to help his mate and take him away from this situation as it was clear it was upsetting him, his muscles tense, ready to jump, take a parachute and let Q cling to him as they jumped down into the ocean or landed somewhere in France.

He lost any sense of time, every minute going by in the beat of his heart which was beating so rapidly in his chest that James wondered why it wasn’t audible already. He took a deep breath, trying not to choke on air, and then leant in to press a kiss to Q’s temple, running his fingers through his hair.

“You’re alright,” he mumbled, feeling the stewardesses gaze resting on him. “I won’t let anything happen to you...” He looked up at the stewardess and gave a light smile. “Some Earl Grey for him and a glass of martini for me. Shaken, not stirred, please.”

The stewardess, obviously hesitant about leaving the two of them alone again, finally nodded and went to the back to get their beverages. James, with the adrenaline being pumped through his veins instead of blood, could hear her talk to another stewardess behind the curtains separating them from the first class, could hear her ask questions.

He could only smirk and shake his head, going back to trying and calm his soul mate down. For such a tiny boy, Q could shout incredibly loudly, his cries audible in the whole first class. Most put in headphones to ignore him, some were making a show out of their annoyance by ranting to their neighbour or – James’ favourite – turning around, eying the child with a look of distaste, and then giving a snort. It was almost funny how the adults were more childish in their behaviour than the little boy sitting in James’ lap was.

Minutes passed.

The fear James felt through their bond became stronger as the plane shook a bit, a light tremble almost not palpable but Q of course noticed. He was a clever boy, could catch up on things quicker than the children used to deal with in his Navy times, but now he wished he would just fall asleep crying, as it would make things easier.

The less attention they drew on themselves, the better things would be, the easier it would be for them to go and reach London without any problems. He didn’t know who was behind the organisation which kept Q with them for so long, didn’t know who they were, what they wanted and how powerful they were, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think they were safe now.

Only in London, in the walls of MI6, they would be, so his goal was to calm Q enough for the others to stop noticing them. It was a lot to ask from a little boy of Q’s age, but James was certain he would, somehow, manage to calm him down.

At least he hoped that he could use their bond this way and provide the anchor Q obviously needed.

Closing his eyes, James let out a long breath and nosed along Q’s hairline, still amazed and in awe by how soft the curls were. He would need a haircut, as the wisps already covered his eyes, but right now James could enjoy them a bit longer, bury his nose, his face, in them to inhale Q’s scent deeply.

He smelled of white lilies, the shampoo James used to wash him in the hotel room, and the sweets he stole from the agent in their hideout, and also of something else, a scent James knew no name for.  Something unique, something truly wonderful.

“You’re turning me into a sap,” James muttered, squeezing Q’s frame and pulling him closer to press the young boy’s back against his chest. Q fit against him perfectly, but that was no surprise; he only wondered how things would turn out when Q would grow, become older. “You should be ashamed.”

Q blinked and turned his head, tears still rolling down his cheeks, one teardrop after the other dropping down onto his shirt, leaving behind darker spots on the fabric. Even when crying Q looked like an angel, one who looked the earth into the eye and saw all evil. James felt himself relax as Q did, their shoulders sinking down almost in unison.

James smiled. “Do you know what a sap is?” Q shook his head almost shyly and bit into his lower lip, reminding James of Moneypenny when she couldn’t figure something out. The look of pure annoyance over the simple fact that he didn’t know something. It was endearing. “It’s not important, love. Don’t worry.”

Kissing Q’s forehead, he reached out to the screen in front of them and tapped on it, wondering if they had any movies suitable for children. He usually didn’t use the media services as he thought it was a waste of time, and would rather read through his mission reports and prepare himself for the mission than watch dumb movies, but maybe it would keep Q calm for the next three hours.

He randomly chose a movie in the ‘Kids selection’ and searched for the headphones provided, gently putting one into Q’s ear, the other into one of his own. Q took it out almost immediately again and looked at it in confusion, going so far to sniff on it and pull on the wire. James had to take it out of his hand and put it back in, just in time for the music of the intro to start.

Q’s eyes were glued to the screen almost immediately.

Like magic hypnotising him, making him to a puppet or shell sitting there like stone, he looked at the screen with wide eyes, even poked it and tilted his head when the movie was paused. James chuckled and turned it back on again, wrapping his arms around Q and letting him settle on his lap comfortably.

The tea the stewardess brought was ignored; nothing, not even the food they were given after half an hour, could make Q look away, the penguins running across the screen apparently too interesting for him to even look away for a second. James had to hold the fork to his lips so he would eat something at least, and even then Q seemed to be too distracted to even notice.

“How about we make a deal,” James mumbled when Q ignored the food again, the movie over,  but his fingers already tapping on the screen to chose another. “You eat your food and drink your tea, and I’ll buy you a kitten once we’re in London, alright?”

Q turned his head to him and bounced on James’ hip, his excitement and happiness making James smile instantly. Hopefully one day James wouldn’t have to find excuses and deals, because he didn’t want to have to deal with twenty kittens in his flat. It would be too tiny for that anyway, but knowing Q better than himself already, he figured the young boy wouldn’t see it as a problem.

As cute as twenty kittens were, and as nice it would be for Q to have someone to care for in the time James was gone on missions, James liked his suits too much to sacrifice them for little fluffy beasts with claws and teeth.

“But you’ll have to care for it, alright? It’s your responsibility when we get it and you’ll have to make sure the kitten’s fine and healthy. Can you do that?”

Instead of just nodding immediately, Q seemed to think about it. He stuck the tip of his tongue out, his eyebrows contracted, cheeks red from how hard he was thinking, the sight making James melt. He leant in to kiss his cheek, unable to stop himself from hugging Q close and burying his face in his curls.

_In maybe ten years, he’d be able to kiss Q on the lips and run his hands over his back, over his curves and up his legs, he’d be able to show him around proudly without anyone thinking he was a paedophile, and he’d be certain that Q’s love was more than childish adoration._

_In maybe ten years, Q would be truly and completely his, and that forever._

But not now, not yet; it would take a while, but it was worth waiting for, it _was_ what destiny decided for them and James would be a fool to be angry, disappointed. He got to spend a lifetime with his mate, got to see him grow up, got to spend so much more time with him than others got.

He couldn’t be angry about that, could he?

Finally, after a few minutes of intense thinking, Q nodded and reached up, his fingers brushing over the stubble on James’ cheek.

“I knew you could,” James said, finding every single part of his body agreeing with that. Q was a smart, a clever kid; if he said he could do something, then James knew he was serious, and mates couldn’t lie to each other. Children, James knew, didn’t even try, nor think about doing that to their partners, unlike adults who sometimes wished they could.

It meant James couldn’t hide what he did for a living from his little soul mate, but it also meant there were no secrets between them, no obstacles, nothing he could reveal without intending to. Q would grow up patching his soul mate up, giving him painkillers and stitching wounds, taking bullets out of bloody flesh; he would sometimes fear for his mate’s life, would be forced to wait for weeks, maybe months, but James knew it would be worth it.

By the time Q became grown-up, James would be in the age to retire, and he did plan on surviving for long enough to do so.

He wanted to grow old with Q, would fight for the right to live with him for as long as humanly possible.

Not even M could expect him to put work, the nation, over the little boy who was his responsibility, whose heart was beating in the same rhythm as James. She had a soul mate, once, but he died. Her latest husband, she always said, with the obscure love for poetry and the ability to make her want to smash his head against the wall.

James already looked forward to her meeting the little one, as he somehow managed to make everyone love him the moment their eyes fell on his tiny frame, his huge, green eyes and curly hair;  not even M was immune to this.

“We’ll have to go to my boss first so she knows we’re both fine and as you need paperwork, but then we can go to a local shelter and you can pick a kitten. How does that sound?” James asked between two sips of martini, keeping the alcohol away from Q so he couldn’t be tempted. He knew he would have to pay attention to his income now, because mates, he knew, shared every sensation, even drunkenness.

Someone, James thought, would always have to watch the little one in case something happened. Injuries, drunkenness, everything was shared. Someone could drug James and Q would feel the impact, and he really wanted to avoid that.

The thought alone made James want to throw up.

“Sounds good, mmh?” He asked again when Q didn’t reply, his eyes glued to James’ face, a frown slowly spreading out across his features. James blinked. “Is something wrong?”

The plane was steady, no turbulences or problems making it shake or tremble. All the other passengers were quiet and minded their own business, and the movie was over, so there couldn’t be any disturbing scenes. James had no idea what upset his little mate so much, even as he dove into their bond, got lost in the sensations and their connection, he just couldn’t figure it out.

He gave a sigh and ruffled Q’s hair. “What’s upsetting you, kitten?”

Q lifted a hand and put it on James’ chest, shaking his head and then burying his face in his neck. Surprised, James wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He had no idea what he wanted, but suddenly, he was overcome by  a wave of warmth, love, and affection, taking away his ability to breathe.

The world seemed to pause, take a few minutes to let James catch his breath, just to come back with the force of a punch to the face.

James gasped and looked down, eyes wide as Q just smiled up at him and then turned back around to chose a new movie from the selection.

It was ironic that a child knew more about the bond by instinct than James did after years of sitting through biology classes where they taught the children about all aspects of the bond, what it meant, what it would feel like. James never paid much attention; his parents hadn’t been each others’ soul mates, neither had Kincaid and his wife been theirs. The few couples in school James had seen made him feel sick in his adolescence, their happiness and joy like a knife to the heart after his parents’ death.

And here Q used the bond like others breathed, taking away the negative thoughts and leaving only calmness behind.

James smiled and kissed his nape, brushing through the fine hair at the base. “You’re something special, aren’t you?” He asked, not expecting an answer.

The more time they spent together, the longer James could hold Q in his arms, the more he enjoyed it, enjoyed _this_.

“I think M can wait a bit longer,” he muttered against Q’s neck, chuckling when the boy gave a yelp and tried to get away from the tickling sensation. Unable to resist, James reached to his front and moved his fingertips over his Q’s belly, grinning when his soul mate immediately tried to move away. “We’ll get you a kitten to keep you entertained while I talk to my boss. It shouldn’t take too long to chose one, I think. They’re all terribly cute.”

Q curled up and tried to hide his belly from James’ fingers, but the agent could easily make him uncurl again and then just tickled him again, grinning and nuzzling his neck once he got Q to shed tears of laughter. It made him look even more adorable than usually, like a bundle of fluff and happiness and cuteness, making it hard for James to put him down even for a second.

Which he unfortunately had as they landed, the plane going down. Q was napping in his seat, so he didn’t notice much of their landing until the plane already was on ground, and people slowly leaving.

He picked him up again the moment he could and smiled, kissing the little boy’s neck. “We’re finally home,” he said softly, picking up the bag he brought with him. More they didn’t need; it had been a three hour flight and the lack of a suitcase didn’t seem to alarm anyone, as they got through security easily, Q’s faked ID not catching attention.

Finally, people spoke English again, finally he could relax as they were safe here on British ground. MI6 probably already ordered a car, which James spotted the moment he left the building with Q on his arm.

“We’re finally in England now,” James mumbled and kissed his neck, those little gestures of affection coming to him easily. “Now we can get your kitten.”

With Q bouncing on his arm in excitement, it was harder to keep him up and steady on his arm, but it worked well enough and he didn’t let him fall accidentally. They made it to the car in a matter of minutes and were greeted by a MI6 driver with the instruction to take them to the HQ immediately.

James smirked. “Change of plans, I’m afraid. Do you know where the next animal shelter with kittens is?”

The look the man threw on James through the mirror nearly made James laugh, but he managed to stop himself just in time. Q, however, didn’t have this kind of impulse control and laughed, the noise like an angel, so pure and beautiful that James all but stared.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta-read

There was something about Q that made everyone look at him the moment he entered. The eyes of the woman behind the counter in the animal shelter were glued to the little boy being carried inside immediately; she smiled at them and gave a wave, visibly surprised when Q  - instead of waving back like she must have expected – turned his head away. James shrugged; young children often were rude without meaning to, Q was no exception.

Even if Q had wanted to wave back, this would not be the case anymore. James felt excitement in his veins, a burning sensation that, unlike the adrenaline during cases, left him with a bright grin on his face. It was so blinding, so overwhelming and strong, that he only noticed the confusion hidden behind the happiness after already approaching the kittens.

One meowed at them, a miserable, tiny thing, and Q tilted his head slightly.

“’ames,” he mumbled quietly, a confused undertone to his words. He pointed at one of the many kittens that apparently had chosen old boxes to be their bed.

It took James a few moments to realise what was wrong. But once he got it, he wanted to slap himself. He didn’t know what made Q agree on their deal, but now he realised that it could not have been the excitement of owning a kitten. Because how could a boy that spent seven years in a cellar know what a kitten was? He had never even seen bubbles, had never taken a bath – James could only imagine the agonizing pain of being forced to stand under an ice-cold spray of water, hands scrubbing his body not clean, but only less dirty, less _bloody_ – or been shown affection, how was he supposed to recognise a cat when he stood in front of not only one, but at least a dozen mewling little balls of fluff?

James felt guilt wash over him, and it took Q’s confusion away with it like waves destroying sand castles at the beach. The boy looked up and blinked a few times, trying to assess the situation, but the lady behind the counter hurried over to them, deciding to help.

Carefully, James hugged Q closer, arms around the boy’s skinny frame as if he feared he would vanish any moment. All the laughing, the cuddling and the joy of finding his soul mate had made James forget one thing: How he had found him.

“Are you looking for a kitten?” The woman asked gleefully. James understood why; there were so many cats and kittens, a hell of an orchestra of meowing, hissing, whining, snoring and many other noises. They were probably more than glad to get rid of one of the cats, to have more space again. “I’m positive we will have one suitable for this young gentleman here.”

James nodded, and carefully carried Q as he followed the woman – her nametag said Issay – through the corridors. They walked past cages in which older cats crouched in the corners, ones that were covered in scars, patches of bare skin amongst their thick fur, and hissed the moment a human being got too close, past creatures that only had three legs or one ear, those who had been through far too much in their short lives already. The kittens in the front, Issay explained, were too young to be adopted. They weren’t old enough to be separated from their mothers – the staff of the animal shelter – without trauma. They had older kittens a bit further behind, which was where she was taking them.

Q’s gaze wandered over the cages and their inhabitants, eyes wide. Even without their bond, James would have felt his astonishment. To him, it was a thrumming under his skin, a feeling of restlessness that he could not shake off. The ghost of a thought rushed through his head, the urge to reach out, pet and examine – he knew it weren’t his emotions, but that didn’t stop him from chuckling, for the first time in years feeling childish excitement and happiness, an emotion to pure and rare that he wanted to cherish it.

He feared that he would taint Q. Saw a white lily in front of his inner eye, its petals soiled with red blood. Before the thought could reach Q, he focused on the cats around him. They were becoming younger, which meant they must have reached their destination. Q wriggled in his arms, probably wanting to open the cages and touch, and James shook his head, hugging him yet closer. He didn’t feel comfortable with the idea. Even though they were in Britain, and the driver outside had a gun hidden under his vest, another one beneath his seat, he was worried that someone might come and take Q away against his will.

Which thought was worse, James wondered: Q being taken away, or going out of his free will?

“There we go,” Issay said, stopping in the doorway. “All the kittens here have been trained not to bite or scratch. We can open a cage and he can play with the cat, but only under supervision. We don’t want anything to happen to child or cat.”

James nodded, only now allowing Q to sit down on a carpet that lay on the ground. There was no way someone could enter this part of the shelter without James noticing; the only entrance was blocked by the volunteer, who watched fondly as Q crawled from one cage to the next. James never would have thought that it was possible to open one’s eyes this wide outside of Japanese animation, but Q, he thought, made everything doable. The agent knelt down next to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. He did not like the feeling of bones under his fingers, but he’d have to wait to solve this problem.

One thing after another.

Q stopped in front of a cage and looked up at Issay, then at James, tugging on their bond. It was so unexpected and strong that James nearly stumbled forward, pulled to his soul mate by an invisible force. It always surprised James how much Q seemed to know – no, that was not the right word for it, for Q’s instinctual use of the connection between their hearts – about it. There was so much James had forgotten since his adolescence, had deleted from his memory as he thought he’d never need it.

Issay opened the cage and carefully took the kitten out. It was a young thing with ginger fur and strawberry blonde eye patches around its bright, grey eyes. In Issay’s arms, it remained calm, but the moment she handed it over to Q, the cat wriggled and struggled, trying to get free. After a few seconds, it calmed down again, but Q already put it back in the cage and moved on. He treated the whole act like others did their paperwork in the office; systematically, he went from one cage to the next, looked inside and sometimes tugged on the bond to ask for the cage to be opened. James tried to understand why he was doing it, but Q didn’t share anything over their bond, was too concentrated.

Finally, when Q had looked into the last cage of the corridor, he reached up to James with grabby hands, and a wish forming in his mind so clear that James could have sworn he had the same idea in the same moment.

He turned to Issay after picking Q up, cradling him against his chest. “I think he’d like to take a look at the older cats. Are there some that are suitable for young children?”

Issay seemed to hesitate, but then nodded. “I’m sure we’ll find something. Not all of them are aggressive like dogs.” She chuckled at her own comparison, before leading the way. It didn’t take long until the soft, innocent meowing of the kittens was drowned out by the hissing of the older cats. James didn’t understand why Q chose to return here – had expected him to pick a kitten because they were cute and sweet, if he was honest. However, Q was full of surprises; that James had learnt by now.

In these corridors, there was no carpet on the floor for children to sit on. Issay didn’t offer to open any of the cages either, apparently too paranoid and worried that one of the cats might hurt the potential customer. James understood her fears; he wouldn’t trust either of those beasts, the furry things with their teeth bared and fangs out.

Q didn’t seem to be bothered by all the hissing around him, probably because he did not know it meant aggression. He crawled from one cage to the next and looked inside, hands resting in his lap and eyebrows contracted in concentration. James looked over to Issay and shrugged at her amused expression. It couldn’t be very common for children of Q’s age to turn their backs to the kittens in order to regard the older ones.

After what felt like an eternity, Q tugged on the door of a cage that lay a bit further down the corridor. Issay seemed to hesitate, but then opened it, carefully taking the cat out. James tilted his head. It was a rather small, black cat with white fur going from its nose down to its belly, and green eyes. One of its ears was missing, looked like it had been ripped off by either another cat, or an animal with sharp fangs. It held still in Issay’s hands, but didn’t look too happy about being taken out of its cosy home. James actually did expect it to attack the moment Q touched it, but Issay had a firm grip on the predator and ensured the boy’s safety. It didn’t stop James from being alert, ready to interfere, to tear the beast off Q and take it away.

Nothing happened. The cat didn’t scratch nor bite, let Q pet him with curious hands. His eyes were focused on the boy, but there lay no aggression in them, only slight annoyance, and sleepiness. Maybe he had been sleeping before Issay took him out. For all that James cared, he could have been cleaning himself or eaten, it made no difference.

He would have preferred a kitten. A pet that he could train and one that was no potential threat. But with Q, it seemed, life could not be planned or properly calculated. Q seemed to love surprises, or at least to surprise James in everything he did.

At the feeling of annoyance settling deep in his chest, James looked up again. Q had tried to take the cat from Issay, but the volunteer had not handed it over. The tug on their bond was so strong that James coughed out involuntarily. Demanding little thing. Always having James handle everything instead of doing it himself.

“Here, let me take the cat,” he said to Issay, regretting his words moments later when Issay did as asked. The cat – which was bigger as James had expected – glared at him, ready to pounce and attack. He didn’t want to hold it in his arms any longer than necessary, and hoped that Q would choose another cat, maybe return to the kittens. “Come here, love. You can take it as long as you stay seated in my lap.”

One day, James figured, Q would not obey so easily, even though he was the youngest of the two. He’d grow up to be a challenge – and James barely managed to suppress a grin at the thought of bickering, bantering and arguing as their hearts desired. But right now, Q simply nodded and came closer, leaning against James’ chest with his back. Only then James put the cat in Q’s lap.

Seconds passed in which neither moved. Q looked down at the cat, the cat up at him, and Issay held her breath. James mentally prepared for the inevitable pain that was about to come, but the beast stayed calm. In fact, he settled down, curled up and began to purr. Q looked pleased with himself and brushed his fingers through the beast’s fur, incredibly tender for a boy who never had handled a pet before.

Issay stared, then smiled. “I guess that the decision has been made,” she said. “Unfortunately, I cannot let you take him without seeing your house first. We need to check that he will have everything he needs.”

“Coming here was a spontaneous thing,” James admitted. “I promised him a cat and we came here.”

Issay shook her head in mild disappointment. “Having a pet is a huge responsibility, especially for a little child of his age. Without knowing anything about your house, the environment the cat will be put in, I cannot let you adopt him.”

Q hugged the cat close, completely oblivious to the adults’ conversation. The idea of taking the beast – James decided he liked the nickname – away from Q didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t want Q to be sad, hurt. And so he took out his ID and handed it over. Issay scanned over it, and her eyes widened. It did not say what status he held, only that he worked for the government, and held a high position. James doubted that she would hand over a cat if she knew that he killed for a living.

“I can leave this here if you’d like,” he said quietly, fingers going through Q’s hair absently. “We will have to go through the tiring process of filling out paperwork about soul mates, all of the stress... I doubt that he’ll like it. I thought a cat might calm him down.”

“I understand,” Issay mumbled, throwing back her thick, black hair as it covered her eyes. James imagined the kittens loved tugging on the afro curls when they bounced like that. “Yet-“

“I can show you my penthouse after we have filled out the papers.” James said quickly before she could continue. Q began to notice. He could feel it over their bond. “It won’t take too long. My ID can stay here as proof. We will come back the moment we have finished everything.”

Issay did agree. She went over the basics of feline care, gave them a collar, some papers, and then sent them off, James carrying the box with the beast inside. Q was happy, though. He was smiling all the way to MI6, sticking his finger through the bars and playing with the cat even when they stopped in the garage underneath the building.

The headquarters were a place of constant muttering, shouting and running. No one ever stopped for a second; everyone was carrying files, papers that nearly fell out of their cases, guns, equipment and tiny devices. James recognised a few, faces that he had passed many times before, but most were unknown to him. He never bothered to learn their names. But now that he walked through the corridors carrying a boy and a box that hissed at everyone daring to come too close, people slowed down. A few even came to stand, confusion as evident in their faces as amusement. James Bond, newest addition to the double-oh’s, with child and cat. He hadn’t been gone that long, has he?

James had planned on going to the office he had been given at his promotion, setting Q down and letting him stay there until the meeting with M was over, but Tanner was quicker. The disapproving eyebrow that met Bond as he approached only made the blond Scott grin; Tanner only knew that Bond had not reported back from his mission, not that he had found his soul mate. James would have liked to know how he had reacted if it was the case.

Tanner wasn’t stupid, however. When he saw Bond carrying a child that looked nothing like the agent, and saw how content said boy was, he put two and two together after a few seconds. His mouth fell open slightly. “Please tell me that a woman you had sex with left her child to your care,” he pleaded with a tired voice, the horror of overtime written in his eyes. “M already wants to have your head. I cannot imagine how she’ll react if you show up with...” He trailed off with a sigh and turned around, opening the door. “She’s already waiting. She’ll want to know what took you so long. I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I bought my soul mate a cat,” James said, sounding proud of himself. “I believe she is going to understand.” With a grin that spoke of self-confidence, James walked past Tanner, balancing Q on his arm. The cat had gone silent, probably fallen asleep. A soft snoring came from the box, barely audible once the door was closed behind James again, and the lovely, sweet sound of M screaming at him echoed from the walls.

James winced.

He should have let Q in his office.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter had a name, it would be "James' adventures in cat land". I wanted the chapter to be longer, but the ending was just too perfect to write more; the next chapter shall show what M wants, what she'll say, and if the beast will wake up again.
> 
> I know it's been a while, and I'd like to apologise for that. Real life has been stressful, and it won't cease to be. I'm in my last year of highschool and things will be getting tough pretty soon. I'd like to promise a chapter all two weeks, but I don't know if I could hold that promise. Just be assured that it will be continued. I promise.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I had have for a while by now, but I haven't found the time to write it. Q is a young boy and James is around thirty, only recently got his double-oh-status and is on one of his first missions. So the age difference is around twenty years or a bit more, just like in the canon.  
> There won't be any sexual interactions of any kind until Q is sixteen years old. This is the legal age in Britain, and it therefore would not be illegal as long as James does not have any guardianship over Q. It's not pedophilia, so no worries of any kind. I'm against it and I won't write it.
> 
> The idea of soul mates in this verse is that they are one soul in two bodies, so to say. Once the bond is strong enough they can feel each other's emotions and share some strong thoughts, and it also means that James has every right over Q as his soul mate, and doesn't have to adopt him nor become his guardian. M has little to say against this and no one else does, since it's biology and not to be messed with.
> 
> I want to thank tracionn for making me write this and for giving me support - thanks love :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [White Lily (cover)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/699258) by [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/pseuds/tracionn)




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